A Deadly Purchased Victory
by JandraOfMalidor
Summary: She's a healer at the court of King Thror when Smaug, the Firedragon, destroys the Kingdom under the Mountain - Erebor. He's the son of Kings, the heir of Durin, meant to reclaim the lost Kingdom for his folk, meant to rebuild a home for his people. When they meet they have no idea how fate will change their lives. Story, inspired by the movie and a roleplay... Thorin/OC
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the characters and storylines of 'The Hobbit' or 'The Lord of the Rings'. Both belong to the brilliant mind of J.R.R. Tolkien and to the not less brilliant ideas of Peter Jackson who brought us one the breathtaking novels and the other the amazing movies.

I own my OC and the storylines I invented myself.

The idea for this story came to me by accident as I would name it.

It got inspired by a comment Richard Armitage made about a person/a Lady Thorin Oakenshield may have loved and lost before he went on his quest to regain the lost Kingdom under the Mountain. Probably and possibly a Lady from Erebor.

It got also inspired by a roleplay I'm involved in and which means a lot to me because the people I met there are great!

**So, this story is dedicated to Richard Armitage and his wonderful portrait of Thorin Oakenshield and to those adorable people I feel honored to 'play' with...**

I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it - have fun!

* * *

**A Deadly Purchased Victory**

The upcoming night had been chilly and clammy when she returned home.

Her fingers were stiff from the icy cold outside and the wind crept deep into her innermost and made her shiver although she was wrapped in her thick and warm cape.

She enlightened several candles and heated the small fireplace before she curled herself under the blankets of her narrow and uncomfortable bed.

With a sigh she decided that she was too tired to eat tonight and ere she realized it she fell asleep sending a prayer to the spirit which was supposed to free her from her dreams.

It would be in vain but she had no other hope left – her visions could not be true, they must not be true.

Her proud folk had suffered enough, her people had died more than once, had been torn apart and split into small groups of survivors.

Spread all around the beautiful landscapes of Middle Earth.

Her folk of great craftsmen, fearless fighters and clever traders got humiliated and exiled, robbed of their home and their King.

A lot of them had been disheartened and hopeless when the news got spread that King Thror got slaughtered in the battle in front of the walls of Moria and that his follower, his son, Thrain, vanished the same day.

She had been broken-hearted as well and she still was but not while she thought about her King.

Thorin Oakenshield they named him now...

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, heir of Durin they had named him long ago...

Thorin!

Just Thorin was how she had named him once – long ago when Erebor had still been the Kingdom under the Lonely Mountain, when they both had been much younger...

Long ago before the dragon came, before the Orcs claimed Moria.

No!

Not claimed!

Before they had overrun Moria and before they had drenched the beautiful town in blood and tears...

Thorin – the proud prince.

His eyes always shimmering, blue like sapphires.

His smile disarming.

His way to become accepted always kind and the same determined.

His courage never questioned.

Yes, she had always admired him from the first day on she had come across him and she had adored him – later when she had been chosen as the trusted healer of his father and his grandfather...


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

As soon as sleep had found her as soon she became restless again within her doze, plagued by her thoughts, her visions and her memories.

Unable to fight them, unable to spare her inner eye from them and unable to keep her dreams from finding her again.

Night after night she was afraid of falling asleep, night after night she woke up, drenched in sweat, her eyes wide in horror.

She had seen too many cruelties, she had seen too many of her folk die and suffer and her skills had failed her much too often.

There were days when she asked herself why she had survived when the dragon attacked Erebor, why she had survived the exile...

There was no answer to her questions...

And then, when she found herself desperate and small she remembered the days, the beautiful days of Erebor, the market days of Dale and the feeling of easiness and contentedness.

Then she remembered the day when she crossed paths with Thorin Oakenshield for the first time...

* * *

Her family had never been noble or of regal blood. Her father had been a miner and her mother had been a seamstress in attendance on the royal family.

There had never been a healer within their family and there had never been one meant to become a healer.

When her skills with herbs and roots, with barks and potions became obvious she got ordered to prove them under the stern eyes of her King - Thror...

She remembered the moment when she hurried because she feared to miss the appointment, when she rushed around a corner – and when she stumbled into a young dwarf with dark and skillfully braided hair, a well-kept beard and alarmingly blue eyes.

She bounced back, fell to the floor of the corridor and all of her herbs, roots and blossoms lay spread around her.

It was within this moment, when she felt close to crying that a hand reached out to help her getting up and that a voice addressed her – soft, dark and calm: "I never assumed this corner to be meant to get rushed around that quickly, my Lady."

Staring at him angrily she grabbed his hand and got up, beating powder and minced herbs out of her skirts: "And I never assumed that somebody could ruin my appointment with the King!"

"The King", he smirked and cocked an eyebrow: "Really?"

Amusement sounded within his words and a smile enlightened his eyes.

"Really", she scoffed: "What do you think why I'm dressed like this?"

"Want me to make a guess? Not to polish the floor..."

"You don't expect me to laugh, don't you?"

"I would never dare to, my Lady. But", he responded while he – to her surprise – started to help her with picking up her herbs: "have you spent just one thought on the fact that not your dress but your skills will decide whether the King will accept you or not?"

"I...", she looked straight into his eyes, stopped short, thought about his words and shook her head: "No...", she lowered her head and went on: "So, you mean he won't care...?"

"About the dress?"

She nodded.

"No! You want to be his healer? Convince him you're worth his trust. But I shall warn you. It won't be easy, my Lady..."

"I'm not..."

"You will be someday..."

Hinting a bow he wanted to take leave from her, when he turned round again asking her with another smirk: "You have a name, my Lady?"

Staring at the pouches lying in her hands she cleared her throat then she straightened up and replied: "Jandra..."

"Well", he gave her a nod: "Good luck, Lady Jandra..."

With it he left her.

She stood rooted to the ground but after a few moments of thinking she ran after him: "Wait! Shouldn't you tell me your name as well if you wanted me to tell you mine?"

"No idea?" He let his gaze melt into hers: "Don't rack your brain. Otherwise you'll miss your appointment with my grandfather..."

His smile was disarming, when he added: "It's Thorin, my Lady. At your service..."

The same moment all the small pouches hit the floor again...


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was a sight to behold when the gaze fell from the balustrade high above the town down upon its breathtaking architecture with its columns and its arcs, with its niches and its ledges and with its ceiling which seemed to hover above everything.

Small figures hurried to and fro the long alleys and corridors and who was unversed in what a dwarf's hands were able to create would never believe with what his eyes presented him:

Polished dark marble covered every single of those alleys and corridors which seemed to spread endlessly throughout the whole town. Jewels and molten gold got worked into the also polished columns and the keenly swung arcs after uncountable skillful and talented hands of thousands of eager dwarves had apparently built them out of the nothing.

Lanterns and lusters made of artfully smoothed and cut crystal bathed the whole place in warm and colorful light reflected by the jewels and the gold which adorned even the smallest niche and the tiniest spot of this miraculous place, causing the illusion of infinity and eternalness.

Erebor, the Kingdom under the Lonely Mountain and the heart of the dwarf-land.

The home of the proud children of Durin it was and countless stories about its glory and its marvels got spread all across Middle Earth and amongst its people and not even the elves from Mirkwood under the reign of their King Thranduil had been able to refuse those dwarves their tribute...

The dwarves of Erebor were on familiar terms with the people of the nearby city of Dale and mutual respect and understanding let craft and trade blossom in a never before seen way.

Thror, heir of Durin and King under the Mountain ruled in sternness and in justness and there was no doubt that his line would persist for he had a son and a grandson who would follow him on the throne if his time would come some day.

But the glory and the magnificence of Erebor were beclouded by an old affliction, which had befallen many of Durin's house. A sickness of mind caused by the greed for riches and gold, a sickness, which was supposed to cause the downfall of the proud line of dwarves some day.

In the beginning nothing had affected the reign of King Thror but then the Eye of the Mountain, the Arkenstone, the King's Jewel had found him and from that day on he started to change.

Obsessed with gold and other treasures the mind of the great King started to bemuse and his son, Thrain, as well as his grandson, Thorin, noticed it with concern...

And so it happened that a pair of blue eyes kept taps on the King under the Mountain out of the shades of a pillar. Troubled their gaze was and a question seemed to be written upon the handsome face of the unnoticed watcher...

The question if this strange sickness of mind would affect him as well some day if he should be meant to become the follower of his father...

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror knew the blood of Durin ran through his veins and rumors and stories about the mysterious sickness or the curse, as some of his folk also named it, accompanied him throughout his whole life like a thread.

He was still young and there was no reason to be afraid that his father or even King Thror might die soon, but the idea of possibly running mad some day caused him unease and it even frightened him deep in his heart.

He asked himself what it was happening to his beloved grandfather when the once proud man figuratively bathed in gold, when he cared more about the ancient relic, the Arkenstone, but about his Kingdom and when he was unwilling to listen even to the closest circle of his family.

With a sigh he turned slowly away from the sight the King offered.

Being just on his way back to the great hall where he knew the master of arms and his trusted fatherly friend – Balin – waited for him, he spotted a figure hurrying down one of the corridors.

Her hair, black like a raven's wings and skillfully braided, fell down her back, her eyes, gray like the flanks of the mountain, shimmered within the unique light of the hall and her skirts billowed when she hastened down the floor.

Her sight made him smile and out of a sudden resolve he decided to follow her.

"Always in a hurry you are, my Lady, aren't you? Cannot remember having seen you..."

The young healer winced at the voice behind her and turned round.

Recognizing him she stopped and narrowed her eyes: "What? Having seen me behave like a Lady? I already told you, I'm no Lady, when we met for the first time."

"Did not forget that. But tell me how does it feel having become the King's healer?"

"You would not ask if you would not already know the answer", she replied with a sigh: "I'm on my way to him..."

"And I'm on my way back..."

She swallowed the taunting answer she wanted to give him when she spotted the hint of concern within his eyes: "Something wrong? You look troubled."

"I am", he confessed with a low voice: "Thror, the King... He's moody and seems to be more and more absent. Apparently he does not even notice anymore what happens around him."

"I just not wanted to mention it..."

"And there is no magic potion hidden somewhere within the plaits of your skirts?"

She shook her head: "I'm sorry, Thorin. I fear there is nothing I can do. It's a sickness of his mind and not of his body. All I can do is calming him down if he asks me to do so. And you know him..."

"He would never ask for it..."

"Exactly!"

Both of them kept silent for a while until the silence began to become awkward.

"Is there anything else I can do for you...", the healer, Jandra, said, when the young heir of Durin started the same moment and asked: "Is there a chance to talk to you in private..."

"Maybe", she replied slightly taunting: "if you won't ambush me again next time. It may appear a little strange, you know. For you'll become King of Erebor some day, Thorin, you shouldn't hurry after an unknown healer who's not even of regal blood..."

"You're not unknown to me, Lady Jandra", he replied with a stern face: "and it's not blood which makes us a noble or not..."

"What else but blood could it be then", she asked curiously.

"It's the heart, my Lady..."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

When the change of seasons brought a mild breeze from the south the streets of Dale filled with life again and laughter and singing soaked through many open windows after a long and grim winter.

The scent of blossoms waved through the lanes and the first sun of spring was welcome to every living being, while within a few days the beautiful landscape around the town of Dale and the Lonely Mountain of Erebor turned from brown to green and from gray into an ocean of colors.

It was the time when the traders opened their shops again, when a bustling noise could be heard again coming from workshops of all thinkable kinds and when the market days brought the people of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor together again.

Back at that time it was no remarkable sight to see the children of Durin exchange and trade their skillfully manufactured goods against crops, fruits and other necessities which were not available within their hidden Kingdom under the Mountain.

Accurately forged axes and blades were as well in demand with the people from Dale as filigree formed jewelry and other attire and ornaments for the dwarves were known as more than just talented forgers and jewelers.

It was a peaceful life and neither envy nor distrust prejudiced the deep and long grown relationship between the two so different folks living at the edge of the western part of Middle Earth.

Mirkwood, the home of King Thranduil and his folk was close but the elves preferred not to deal with dwarves and men as long as it was not necessary and if it became necessary they handled it in their own unique way.

No one and nothing seemed to be able to ever change this untroubled life and because no one really spent a thought on it contentedness and a feeling of everlasting bliss welcomed every visitor and left him more often than not a bit puzzled when he took leave after a while.

Such a peaceful and sunny day of spring it was when a young dwarf lady left to head for the market of Dale shortly after the gates of Erebor got opened in the morning.

She closed her eyes and turned her face towards the sun relishing the warmth it spread as if its cheekily beams would gently caress her cheeks. The moment passed by and a smile sneaked upon her lips when she went back on her way.

When she reached the town of Dale she inhaled deeply. She hadn't been there for about three months and she was glad to find anything in good order. The lanes and the marketplace were brimmed with folk of all kind and everyone seemed to be lighthearted and glad to get rid of the winter's cold and the thick and uncomfortable layers of clothes they had needed against the icy wind and frost.

Jandra, King Thror's trusted healer, let go the hood of her cape and mingled amongst those who had the same idea like her – visiting the market.

* * *

"Tell me, why is it that you dwarves bury such a cute lass somewhere deep under the mountain, eh?"

A smile sounded within these words and she looked up to meet the gaze belonging to them. Friendly eyes looked down upon her out of a weathered face. They shimmered lively in the bright daylight and it was difficult to guess the age of the old merchant.

"Master Gareth!"

"Good to see you, little lady. You brighten this day even more as the sun already has."

"What's going on? You do not try to flatter me, don't you?"

"No, I was just flirting with you", he grinned: "But forgive an old man like me. My pleasures are rare meanwhile and you're always one of them."

"You're not as old as you want to make me believe, my friend..."

"I'm older, lass!"

Both laughed and the young healer beheld the huge selection of berries, roots and herbs Master Gareth had to offer – equal if dried, fresh, minced or in a whole.

"You're one of a kind, my dear friend", she said still impressed by their variety although she knew the merchant for many years now.

It took her a while until she had chosen everything she was in need for to refill her supplies after the long months she had not left the halls under the mountain and in the meantime Gareth asked her: "Is there anything else I can offer you? Potions, powders, ointments? You know I get them from all around Middle Earth..."

"No, thank you", she laughed: "My basket's already full to the brim!"

When she wanted to pay him he grabbed her hand and said with a gentle smile: "I meant what I said, little lady, your folk shouldn't bury its beauty under rocks and mountains..."

He kissed her hand and she waved him goodbye.

The same moment she turned round to continue her day at the market she stopped short.

She shielded her eyes against the sunlight and she couldn't avoid that a silent laugh escaped her lips.

Not far from her she spotted the familiar face of the King's master of arms – Balin – and he was not alone. Involved in a lively discussion with a couple of the town of Dale's guards she recognized the blue and black robe, adorned with silver and fur, the young heir of Durin used to wear.

Thorin!

She had no idea why she felt like blushing and why she obviously headed straight towards Balin and him although she had not the slightest reason – all she knew was she did both...

"Ah, lass! Come, join us! We're right on our way back", Balin addressed her and waved her to come closer: "Our business is finished."

His eyes twinkled as always and her unsureness vanished - at least as long until Thorin turned round and strolled over to them, eyebrows cocked, a knowing smile upon his lips.

"As I see your purchase was successful, my Lady", he pointed towards her well filled basket.

"As successful as your business was, I dare to claim", she responded letting her gaze wander from him to Balin and back.

"It was nothing but a little exchange of thoughts, lass", Balin told her, giving her a wink: "Nothing of importance or meant to cause any of us trouble."

"I'm not sure", she replied: "If you prick up your ears you'll learn that there is rumor about the King and why no one had seen him outside his halls for a rather long while..."

"Rumor", Thorin asked changing a look with Balin barely able to hide his concern: "What rumor?"

"This and that", Jandra replied: "That the King might be weak, that he even might have passed away already..."

Balin shook his head: "It's worse than we have expected then..."

Thorin just nodded: "It had to be feared. Balin, I've to talk to my father. Now!"

He looked at the healer and asked: "You'll accompany us as we're on our way back, my Lady?"

She knew he wanted no reply and so she hurried to follow them.

* * *

They were half way back and the gates of Erebor had already come in sight when Jandra stopped all of the sudden and without any explainable reason.

She narrowed her eyes and stared at a spot somewhere on the horizon.

Only a split second later her eyes widened in horror. She let go the basket and wrapped her arms round her body as if she got hurt by some invisible but terrible pain.

Thorin as well as Balin beheld her frowning not sure what to think about it. There was absolutely nothing to spot where she stared at but it was obvious that something or someone seemed to frighten her to death.

"No", she whispered: "Not again!"

She buried her face within her hands and went on without really noticing the two dwarves watching her the same puzzled and at a loss: "Fire! Ashes!"

A tear ran down her cheek as she lowered her hands and when she recognized Thorin and the master of arms she just sighed: "Death and agony will come upon us..."

With it she passed out...

* * *

Later that day a knock at her door distracted her from weighing herbs and roots.

"May I?"

It was Thorin.

She cleared her throat and waved him to get in: "Of course..."

"Busy again, I assume", he asked while having a look around her room.

"Just to forget!"

"Don't try to deceive me, my Lady. You were really scared this morning. No one can act the horror gotten mirrored upon your face..."

"It's nothing", she lied unable to answer his inquiring gaze and inwardly stepping from one foot to the other.

"Nothing", he frowned: "A terrible nothing it was, if you ask me. Tell me, Jandra, healer of the King of Erebor, servant of the most stubborn dwarf under the mountain, why this nothing nearly scared you to death although you're not afraid of the changing moods of your King?"

She bit her lip and the inside of her cheek before she was able to lift her gaze and to give him a reply: "Visions! I have visions! Every now and then since a couple of months. I kept silent about it because I actually do not believe in such things. But since the winter is gone they haunt me again..."

"You're serious about it?"

"What does it look like?"

"I see", he paused and gazed at her thoughfully, before he asked: "What will happen?"

"I've no idea. All I can see are shreds of an uncertain future. Maybe it's just an allegory but supposedly..."

"...it is not?"

"I can't say anymore, for there is nothing else I can tell you", she locked eyes with his and went on: "I'm sorry, if I troubled you and Master Balin..."

"There is nothing you've to apologize for, my Lady", he hinted a bow and added before he left: "Hope you have a calm night..."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Far over the misty mountains cold  
To dungeons deep and caverns old  
We must away ere break of day  
To find our long forgotten gold

The pines were roaring on the height  
The winds were moaning in the night  
The fire was red, it flaming spread  
The trees like torches blazed with light."

The sizzling and cracking coming from the fireplace once had a different meaning to him. Now it caused him memories he wasn't able to forget. The same applied to the flames dancing in front of his eyes and to the warmth a cozy place like this was actually meant to spread.

Thorin's eyes mirrored the flames while his gaze got lost within the glow and while the heat he felt upon his face carried him back mile over mile and year over year.

The song had found him tonight as many nights before and he felt its melody slipping over his lips without being able to hold it back.

It should never have been meant to be written, it should never have been meant to be sung but meanwhile it reminded him of this one wish he wanted to become true – regaining what was rightfully his.

When he slowly turned round he saw the faces of his companions who were willing to join him in his quest – those dwarves who would remain the only of his folk willing to support him.

Some of them were actually too young to endanger them, some of them started to grow old, some of them just accompanied him because their brothers did.

But he knew them to be loyal and to own a heart he could rely on – and they believed in him even if they had failed to convince the last planned member of the company to join them.

The Hobbit!

Gandalf had told him a lot about this little fellow who knew nothing about those dangers their journey would probably hold ready for them and just because of the wizard he was here.

But the great wizard erred, Gandalf the Grey erred. He had rated the curiosity and the love for adventure of this Bilbo Baggins higher than it obviously was.

And who could hold it against him – he led a peaceful life without any need to help a pack of dwarves regaining their Kingdom.

With a sigh he turned away.

It was late and he had at least to try to sleep since they would leave early in the morning.

Ere break of dawn...

* * *

Slumber did not find him within this night.

Whenever he closed his eyes and drifted away into the land of dreams his inner eye and his memories betrayed him.

Fire and heat, screams and deadly silence, blood and tears haunted his dreams and more than once his eyes flashed open in horror. But all he could hear was the snoring of his companions damped due to the closed door of the little chamber he found himself within.

The Hobbit had left his room for him for this one night and he was grateful for this but maybe he wasn't used to the comfort of a snug bed anymore.

For too long he had lived travelling to and fro whole Middle Earth and for too long he had slept in the open or far from everything which meant home or comfort at all.

So he tossed and turned in his hardly recreating sleep until he curled himself under the blankets, his head bedded upon his hands, to stare into the night out of wide eyes.

They shimmered within the little light and he not even realized that it was not only tiredness which let them burn...

He got carried away by his thoughts again and he asked himself if what he did was right.

Who was he to demand from his loyal fellows to accompany him on a quest which possibly held nothing less but death in store for them?

Who was he that he had willingly agreed when his young nephews begged him not to leave them behind, ignoring the sorrow of their mother – Lady Dis, his sister?

An exiled King he was, robbed of his Kingdom, robbed of everything having ever had a meaning to him, robbed of his grandfather and his father.

Doubted he got by those who had resigned themselves to their fate.

Questioned he got by those who asked themselves if the sickness of mind had already affected him as well which plagued the heirs of Durin since ages.

And hunted he would get as soon as rumor would get spread about his quest and why he took his leave...

Maybe Balin was right and they were no fighters anymore...

Maybe they had lost their pride long ago...

Maybe he should leave it be...

But had he a choice?

Maybe the Hobbit was right to stay here, in the Shire, where his roots lay and his home...

Maybe this Bilbo Baggins knew more about the sense of life than he, the King of exiled dwarves...

At least this Hobbit had a choice where he had none...

He was the heir of Durin, the heir of a long row of proud Dwarven Kings and he had to reclaim what once had been their Kingdom.

He had to reclaim their properties and everything which was rightfully theirs.

And he would reclaim it all!

Wasn't there a reason why they named him Thorin Oakenshield?

Hadn't he faced this terrible creature which was determined to wipe his folk away from the face of Middle Earth?

No!

He had no choice!

* * *

With a sigh he turned his eyes away from the little light which soaked through the small window. Dawn was close and they had to leave before sunrise – he and his company of dwarves...

As soon as he closed his eyes again, the images were back but behind that veil of flames and death he was able to spot something different, something he thought he was never meant to see it again. Now it was there and even if it was probably nothing more but just an illusion it was able to calm him down.

Behind the cascade of fire and pain there shimmered a pair of gray eyes, there he could feel the fingertips of gentle hands caressing his brow and temples, his hair and cheeks and there whispered a voice he hadn't heard for far too long: 'Sleep, my Lord, rest and forget..."

And he slept - deep and dreamless until Balin woke him up ere break of dawn...


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"The battlements are no place for a lass", the rough voice of a tall warrior greeted her when she slowly got up the stairs and tall he was indeed thinking of the dwarves he was surrounded by.

Jandra smirked and cocked her head, presenting him with a wink and a shrug: "Not even if she carries a tankard full of ale with her and a mug ready to be filled with?"

A hint of something which nearly could be named a smile scurried over his face for a split second and he growled in reply: "Ale's always welcome..."

"Aye", she said, handing the mug and the tankard over to him with a grin: "to ease the summerly heat and to quicken time on a day like this..."

"As you say", he answered barely audible while emptying the mug within one draft.

She couldn't hide another grin when she beheld him: "I should feel honored, Master Dwalin, shouldn't I? Since you seem to be almost loquacious today..."

He stared at her for a while and then burst out laughing, patting her shoulder that she nearly overbalanced: "Heard that, brother?"

"I prefer to stay deaf at this", Balin replied with a sigh: "otherwise you'll bother me with it the next few years, brother!"

The master of arms turned round, gave the healer a wink and rolled his eyes.

The summer had come early this year and the day was warm and not supposed to see any trouble or anything unexpected. The guards were slumberous and drowsy, but as it happened the master of arms did not take it amiss.

Balin and Dwalin, sons of Fundin, trusted intimates of their King and his son and grandson, skilled fighters and loyal hearts, could not appear to be more different from being brothers if one knew them just from sight.

Where the first was small the other was tall, where the first looked both determined and considered the other looked fierce and impressive and where the first was loquacious the other was close-lipped.

What both had in common was their devotion to their King and his kin and their skills as well trained fighters.

The young healer loved and respected them both and she knew they would not hesitate to sacrifice themselves if necessary – which the same applied to her...

With a sigh she let her gaze wander over the fields and plains the Lonely Mountain was surrounded by and a smile sneaked upon her lips when she saw the town of Dale not far away. A sharp ear would have been able to hear music and singing waving over from the settlement but there was not the slightest breeze to carry it...

"Strange, isn't it! Not a hint of a breeze", Balin addressed her.

"Yes", she sighed: "and almost too hot for the time of year..."

She had barely finished her sentence when suddenly a flush of hot air came from the plains and from the fields, rapidly turning into a storm which made the trees bow. It raised the dust and within an instant the battlements of Erebor were wrapped in and without any sight on what was going on.

Thunder rumbled in the distance but nothing could be spotted as far as the guards could see.

A flash of light appeared, close already but still far enough afar, and then the smell of burning got carried over from the town of Dale. Another lightning hit the place and out of the nothing screaming and the roar of flames could be heard upon the battlements of Erebor.

Surprise as well as puzzlement and speechlessness befell the dwarves who desperately tried to catch a glimpse of what was happening within the town of Dale until a voice tore them all out of their rigor: "What's going on?"

"Thorin!"

Both, Balin the same as the young healer stared at him...

"What are you doing here", he snarled at her: "Go! This is no place for you!"

"But..."

"No talking back this time!"

Concern sounded through his harsh words when he dismissed her: "Just do as I tell you! Now!"

He turned away from her and had a strained look through the dust. His eyes widened in awareness and in horror when he turned round again.

"Run", he whispered and pushed her out of his way then he leaned over the balustrade high over the town of Erebor and yelled: "Dragon!"

Nothing more, nothing less – and his scream got carried on through the halls and corridors and into the smallest chambers of the realm.

While hurrying the stairs down from the battlement Jandra caught a last glimpse on the menace which came over them. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Thorin dragging Balin back behind the walls of the battlements and then a stream of fire enwrapped the walls and everything and everyone upon them.

Singering heat grazed her back and a white-hot pain ran through her body. A scream escaped her lips but she forced herself to stumble down the steps. Panting for air, every breath she took caused her pain anew, but she did not dare to stop and so she ran until she reached the corridor leading to the King's hall.

She turned round to look back, to convince herself that he, Thorin, was alive but she wasn't able to spot him anymore. Tears welled up within her eyes and ran down her dirty cheeks, when desperation started to grasp for her.

* * *

He felt his heart beating against his chest and tried to calm down his breaths while he waited for the horror to blast the gates. Strain got shown upon his face and he knew it would be nothing else but luck if the Children of Durin would get out of this unharmed today.

Death waited for them outside the gates and it was their fate to face it...

He had no idea if help could be expected, and if at all from whom, but he wasn't ready yet to bury hope. The prince of Erebor he was, an heir of Durin, and for that a trained fighter he was as well.

The evil lurking in front of the gates had to wipe him out first before he would resign himself to his fate.

His hand clasped his sword as close as possible and his gaze was fixed at the gates when roaring could be heard and a blast of light and heat hit the gates with full ferocity.

Thorin turned his face away to spare it from the heat then he stared at the gate again.

He could sense it, feel it what power and what spirit it was attacking the town of Erebeor and with it the whole realm – and then the gates burst asunder under a tremendous impact.

In stepped the most frightening nightmare of a dwarf, the horror of ancient legends and their greatest fear:

A fire dragon, creature of old ages and dark visions.

Smaug!

Allured by treasure and by gold, driven by its greed to claim a liar the creature did not hesitate to lunge upon the dwarves. Waves of fire left a swath of death and destruction, teeth and claws broke bones and tore armor and the endlessly long tail finished what found itself still on its way when it lashed out.

Thorin got tossed to the ground and ducked to get not crushed under the dragon's feet, but when he dared to look up again his eyes were wide in horror. His folk, his people fled from the marble halls of Erebor barely able to save their lives.

Death spread through the halls and corridors when the dragon searched for its ways to claim its prey:

The treasure, the inheritance of the Children of Durin...

Thorin knew what this would mean – Thror would never leave the gold and he would never give up the Arkenstone, equal if his life would depend on doing so.

Therefore he stumbled to his feet and headed for another corridor, a smaller one, to save his King before the beast could slay him.

When he reached the treasury he nearly ran into a small figure cowering on the ground and hiding in a narrow niche. It was the healer, covered with dust and dirt and smeared with blood.

"Didn't I tell you to leave", he addressed her, desperately tried to convince himself that she was still alive.

"The King", she coughed: "I tried everything...The Jewel..."

"I'll get him out of here, but now, promise, you'll leave."

He reached his hand out to help her with getting up and caught her when her legs gave in. Her gaze met his and for a split second they melted until the heavy footsteps of the approaching beast tore this moment into pieces.

"Go", he said when he sent her away. "'I'll follow..."

Thorin had no time left to watch her leaving. He hurried over to his King, to his grandfather, and tried to drag him out of the treasure room but when the Jewel got lost amongst the gold the bemused spirit of Thror wasn't willing any more to follow him.

He struggled within the firm grip of his grandson and horror got mirrored within the young dwarf's eyes when the dragon trampled through the corridor and when a flash of light and fire got spat straight into his direction.

He needed all his strength to drag his King with him – through all the corridors and halls until they finally reached the open – just to see two similar pictures in front of them and behind them.

Flames and smoke poured out of the gates of Erebor and fire and ashes had come upon the town of Dale as well.

Death had claimed his prey today amongst the people of Dale.

Death had claimed his prey today amongst the children of Durin.

But the dragon had claimed more – the home, the hope and the heritage of the proud folk of Erebor...

Desperation grasped for Thorin with its icy claws when he saw his folk robbed of everything, just running to save their lives and a few memories of this stunning place, but then he looked up to the heights where the trails of Mirkwood lay and really, the elves had come...

A spark of hope enlightened his eyes when he recognized Thranduil, the Elven King, and his well skilled archers.

There was a chance, there was a way!

Together, with combined forces, they would be able to defeat the beast, for sure – but his hope got shattered and burst asunder within a blink of an eye:

When Thranduil just watched – and waved his folk to leave...


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **

**I had not been prepared for the feedback this story would get. Planned as a one shot I cannot abandon it any more! I so love to write and imagine it that I will stay the course until the end will come.**

**Thanks go to you all – readers and reviewers – but a special thanks shall go to my guest reviewer Charlie:**

**I know what's meant. When I started writing this I had no idea whereto it would lead me. I already think about a revision, but at the moment I have to follow my heart and mind and I just have to bring the story forward – because I feel it must be written...**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Days passed by, weeks flowed down the stream of time and months faded within the circle of a year since the dragon came over the town of Dale and the most beautiful and most impressive of all Kingdoms Middle Earth had ever seen – Erebor.

Disrooted, robbed of their home and a life they had known as peaceful and blessed, a life they had loved and relished, the dwarves of Erebor left the Lonely Mountain and the burnt soil of the plains it was surrounded by.

Disheartened and too shocked to understand what really happened and why no one came to help them and their neighbors from the town of Dale they ran for their lives, most of them just owning hardly more but the clothes they wore.

Thranduil, the Elven King had watched and turned his back on them when they had needed him and his well skilled archers and warriors most and none of the proud Children of Durin would ever be able to forget the sight when the Elves returned to the forest.

The lack of understanding turned into disgust and slowly but continuously, with every step they made, with every mile the distance grew between them and Erebeor, their home, the dwarves' disgust turned into hatred.

And so it happened in the end that after weeks of mourning and grieving they split up to roam the realms and landscapes of Middle Earth for only one single reason – to survive.

Skillful hands were needed everywhere and the skillful hands of the dwarves of Erebor were much more welcome than others but where the people of Dale had always greeted them in friendship and mutual respect the refugees had to learn soon that beside their skills and sleight of hand there was none such thing as friendship anymore.

Scoff and scorn got poured out upon them behind their backs and whispering followed them when they pushed along as soon as their work was done – that their folk was weak, that their King was mad, that their greed had made them overbearing and that they lost their pride and riches rightly.

Bitterness crept into the hearts of many of them and robbed them not only of their home and their belongings but even from that last little spark of hope that still had enlightened their hearts and their spirit – that spark of hope that they would find help amongst the other folks of Middle Earth.

And they went along with it...

Until rumor started to spread that the exiled King of Erebor, Thror, the son of Dain and heir of Durin, was not willing to give in.

That he was not willing to leave his realm and his heritage behind.

That he would raise an army...

And that he was hell-bent to recapture the ancient Kingdom of Moria which had been taken and claimed by Orcs...

* * *

His gaze was stern when he stared at the white hot piece of iron which lay in front of him on the anvil and his right clasped the heavy sledge that firm that his palm and fingers ached with every hit it met the iron with.

Dust and dirt smeared his handsome face. He was drenched in sweat and his long dark hair fell down his back unhindered and uncombed. No braid to hold it, no clasp to keep it. His shirt and pants of rough linen looked worn and tattered and beside his icy look out of his deep blue eyes there was no hint of who he was or of who he once had been.

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, the child of Durin was just another dwarf amongst a thousand others who asked for work, a place to stay for a night or two and for food and drink. None of those who watched him work had the slightest hint of an idea what tormented him and if they would have had they would not have cared.

He had never been the one for lamenting or for crying but what he felt inside his innermost was worst than everything he had ever felt. The hatred he felt for Thranduil, the Elven King, kept the fire deep inside him burning, kept his zest for life in place, but there was another feeling which sometimes nearly let him splinter into pieces.

Desperation kept him in its claws and there were days where he feared it might choke him. Then he felt the knot within his throat tighten until it got unbearable. These were the days when he strolled around the plains and woods to serve just one single purpose – to stay on his own...

He was alone!

The burden he had to bear was heavy!

Maybe it was too heavy but he was strong enough to carry it!

His kin was in need for his strength, the more because it wasn't obviously rumor that Thror would try to reclaim Moria!

Moria!

The great halls of Durin!

It would be a worthy residence but what else would it be?

A home?

Their home?

Not to him!

He had never known another place he could name home but Erebor and he would always remain a homeless dwarf in the eyes of those he had to beg for work now – and he would always remain alone!

But, no!

For a split second his eyes brightened up and the hint of a smile appeared upon his lips.

He was not alone...

Since his grandfather had decided that all skills of their folk were needed much more urgent to regain their pride and realm he had some unexpected company...

* * *

It was already close to dusk when the door leading to the small and skew-whiff shed got opened they had been allowed to stay in for a couple of days.

A small fireplace spread little light and warmth and the lantern, which now appeared within the entrance, enlightened the room a bit more.

The intruder closed the door and let go the hood of the cape he was enwrapped in.

A black tuft came into sight and the tired face of King Thror's trusted healer – Jnadra.

Thorin raised his head and sat up. He blinked in relief when he recognized her even if she looked different now than on the day he had met her for the first time.

Her long black hair was gone. She had cut it after the deadly breath of the fire dragon had burnt most of it. Short curls surrounded her head and she looked young and strange now in an unusual and refreshing way. The plain dress of linen she wore looked as tattered as his own clothes but none the less there was something within her eyes which was far from giving in.

"Let's name us glad we're allowed to stay in here for two or three days! A thunderstorm is raising and there will be no travelling possible I fear."

She threw her cape off and let herself drop on one of the folded blankets close to the fireplace.

"You're late", he remarked frowning, tried to hide a smile when he beheld her.

"Helped to bring a little one into the world", she replied and after a short moment she added with a sigh while a shadow darkened her eyes for a split second: "It felt good to see a new born life greeting the day. I saw too many dead throughout the bygone months I fear..."

"There will be more! Soon! The King searches for allies! Thror wants to reclaim Moria and he's stubborn enough to try it."

"You could talk him out of it", she said, warming her hands close to the fire while the first thunder was to hear somewhere in the distance.

"I am his grandson! He does not even listen to his son!"

"Maybe you err! You're not so different from him. You are the born King, a born leader. He will listen to you."

"Maybe! If it's too late! No, dear Lady, he will not listen to me! And I will fight by his side if necessary..."

"And die?"

"If that is my fate!"

She kept silent, biting her tongue for not giving him the reply he earned in her opinion.

After a few seconds both of them felt the silence to be awkward and so he asked: "This little one you brought to life – did they pay you fairly?"

"They paid me with what we need most. Food, drink, supplies, candles. Money won't do to keep body and mind strong and awake."

With it she placed the basket between them she had gotten from the new born baby's family. It was filled to the brim with fresh baked bread, fruits, cheese and roast, with bottles of wine and ale and with other necessities they were in need for.

"Seems the charms of the dwarf lady are still working", Thorin taunted.

"No", she inhaled sharply: "This is not Dale and you know it! The way they gaze at me, the way they talk behind my back – it hurts more than the wound the dragon caused me!"

He looked at her and asked with a low voice: "How is it? Already healed?"

She shook her head: "It still hurts..."

Thorin nodded.

He remembered the moment when he had gotten aware of it. She had kept silent about it for days, had cared about so many other wounded until she had finally collapsed in fever. And they had not had time to search for another healer...

The scars upon her back would remain for ever and it was very well thinkable and probable that also the pain would not leave her anymore...

"I'm sorry..."

"What for?"

"I did not notice..."

"I did not say anything..."

"You could have died..."

"I did not..."

"You could have..."

"Which meaning could it have for you, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, if your grandfather's healer dies?"

"I'll think about it, but now, my dear stubborn dwarf lady, may I ask – want to keep this for you alone?"

He pointed towards the basket and provided her with a grin...

"Maybe I should think about it..."

Returning the grin she handed a bottle of ale over to him.

* * *

Later the same night, when the thunderstorm was over, the two of them still sat within their shed. It was still raining but the worst was over and when the scent of fresh air and humid soil soaked in through several gaps within the wood Jandra inhaled the smell and smiled a bitter smile.

"Scents like home", she remarked before she inhaled another breath: "And isn't it called to be ironic? If everything is destroyed you once have loved, if nothing is left of everything which once had a meaning to you, just a single smell, a single sound will do to toss you back over times and miles within an instant..."

"You're a dreamer", Thorin replied a bitter undertone within his words.

"What is wrong about dreaming?"

"Our dreams betray us and they watch us and will laugh about us if we fail. Like this Elf watched us and laughed about us..."

The healer knew she had no argument to calm him down if she dared to talk back. Instead she reached out for one of his long dark curls. The strand felt the same soft and strong and she told herself that it was like him.

Without really noticing it, she started to braid the strands until he looked like the dwarf prince again he still was – equal how tired or how dirty he was, equal if he was exiled now and equal what the world may think about him and his kin.

He was Thorin, the King to be some day...

"What are you thinking about...?"

His silent words tore her out of her thoughts.

"Nothing", she said and let go the braids: "Just that this looks better..."

Before he could give her a reply something different soaked through the gaps in the shed:

Something they hadn't heard for months...

Some frolic music...

"Come", she said all of a sudden: "dance with me! We have nothing to lose anymore..."

And when he brushed a curl of hair from her brow about an hour later he felt there was still some space for joy beside the grief within his innermost...


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

He knew it!

He actually had known it from the day they had left the Shire that this had been Gandalf's plan from the very beginning of their journey!

The Hidden Valley!

Imladris!

Rivendell!

Equal how they named it!

To him it was just another nest of Elves, of that folk which had betrayed them, which had turned its back on them within their most desperate hour, which had watched them fight and die, which had not cared if they had lost everything – back then when the dragon came to Erebor...

And he had not even the slightest hint of a choice anymore now to avoid this place!

He was convinced that the sly wizard had known where to search for the hidden entrance.

He was convinced that the inscrutable Gandalf the Grey would have led them here equal if they would have been hunted by an Orc pack or not.

He was convinced that this had possibly been already the plan of the grey wanderer when they had met in Bree several months ago.

And now he was forced to follow this narrow path knowing that it would be the only path he could choose to save the company and to reach his aim.

He had known it when he heard the Elven horns and when he saw the arrows belonging to an Elven bow – and none the less he had agreed to Dwalin's request if they would take the hidden trail...

With a sigh he decided to follow the wizard, the Hobbit and his fellows to the unavoidable but beside this, beside all the grudge he felt against the Elves he was also a dwarf and a silent voice deep inside him whispered that this path was a masterpiece...

The walls it was surrounded by were that high and steep that it was not visible from on high and it was that narrow that a well-fed dwarf like Bombur had already difficulties with getting through.

And he would not foreclose that also some kind of Elvish magic helped to hide the path from unwelcome and unfriendly eyes...

'Like those of a company of dwarves', he thought with a disgusted smirk.

* * *

"It is time, milady!"

She turned round when she heard the voice of the young Elf behind her, very well aware that 'young' had no meaning with the ancient folk living here in the hidden valley of Imladris.

Untouched by age and sickness an Elf was supposed to lead an eternal life unless he would die in battle or due to a broken heart.

But who would not die due to a broken heart...the worst of all ways to die...

Because the pain lasted an eternity and there was no promise that deliverance would ever be granted to a broken heart at all...

She sighed when she lifted her gaze to behold the Elf. Concern got mirrored upon his face of ageless beauty when his stern look out of grey eyes met hers. He was tall and slender and his light-brown hair fell down his back in long, plain strands.

His name was Lindir and he belonged to the kin and court of Elrond, the half-elf, the Lord of Imladris...

The healer, she thought when she slowly sat up, gazing at the dressing with a hiss, which covered her shoulder and that part of her back she was able to spot without dislocating her neck, when a stinging pain ran down her arm until it reached her fingers. It still hurt and a grim smile sneaked upon her lips when she had to realize that not even the powerful Elven Lord had been able to cure the nasty wound which bothered her for so long now.

Dragon fire had caused it and although she had hoped she might find a cure here amongst the Eldest, she had to accept that this wound would possibly never heal completely...

She gave the young Elf a smile, but before she was able to give him a reply as well he turned round and had a look out of the window: "They're here, milady. I have to go. My Lord Elrond has not returned yet, and I dare to make a guess our guests won't feel like welcomed guests should feel." He hinted a bow and turned to leave...

As soon as she was alone again she sneaked over to the window and the balcony and had a secret look down at the inner courtyard. She felt her heart beating against her chest and she was hardly able to restrain herself from letting out a gasp.

He was here!

He was alive!

She covered her lips with her hand and tried to hold the tears back welling up within her eyes, but in vain:

She cried in relief, feeling all her sorrow, all the pain and all the trembling uncertainty vanish...

She cried all those tears she had buried deep inside her for so many years, meant to be cried but never shed...

She cried until she had no tears left any more...

* * *

Thorin watched Gandalf when he followed the Elf, Elrond, to join the White Council.

He knew neither the Elves nor the highest of the wizards, of the Istrai, Saruman, would give him their blessing to go on with his quest and he actually did not care if they would or not. This had been his challenge from the very first moment he had begun to think about it and it would remain his challenge until he would finally regain the ancient realm of Erebor or until he would die whilst trying it.

None the less this meeting made him think...

Since the map of the Lonely Mountain had found him and since he had discovered there was another way in he had searched for the answer to his questions. Up till today he had been convinced that the map hid some invisible or illegible hints which would lead him to his aim but first tonight he got the proof.

He smirked...

Cirth Ithil!

Moon runes!

Of course!

He should have had been able to guess that.

The hidden letters of ancient times, meant to be read only within the light of a moon of the same shape or of the same time of the year where they had been written...

So was it possibly true what Elrond told him?

That his path had already been laid down in front of him long before he ever had spent a single thought on reclaiming Erebor?

That he had to be here, in Rivendell?

That he had to be here today?

That he had to be here at this time of the year, with a crescent moon shining down on the observatory of an Elven Lord?

He wished the answer may be no, but he knew it better. Gandalf never did anything without knowing what he did! The only thing he forgot about all those anythings more often than not was to tell those he wanted to accompany him the truth.

Thorin let out a sigh – so if his path lay already spread in front of him he would not hesitate any longer to tread it.

Not any longer, now, where he knew there was another entrance, now where he knew till which day he had to get there and now where he had the map to get there, where he had the key to open the entrance with and where he had – the hobbit...

He was still not convinced that this supposed burglar could be of use for him but it was also still a long way to get to Erebor...

"Ah... Excuse me... If this... case is clear now", Bilbo Baggins tore him out of his thoughts.

'Speaking of the devil', Thorin replied inwardly, keeping silent, while he frowned and stared at the hobbit with cocked eyebrows.

"It's just... I'd like to have a night meal if you don't mind. I guess we're in safe place for tonight, so, yes, I'd love to eat something... well anything..."

"You're free to do whatever pleases you, Master Baggins", Thorin finally answered: "As long as you are prepared to leave with break of day."

"With break of day? So, you don't have in mind to wait until the council will have finished its meeting..."

"You heard me! Prepare or stay here – it's up to you. But if you'll stay here, you'll not keep us from leaving..."

"Yes, I already got that, I think..."

Staring at Thorin and Balin for a little longer, Bilbo Baggins decided first to take care about his more or less empty belly and then about what the meaning of the King's words really were about.

While he strolled over to the pavilion where he knew the rest of the company rested and waited for the decision of their king Thorin said thoughtfully: "I'm still not quite sure how he shall be of use for us."

"Don't be that overhasty, lad", Balin answered: "We're not even half way to the Lonely Mountain and who knows, Gandalf may be right..."

"May he say whatever he wants to. This hobbit is no burglar..."

Balin grinned and gave Thorin a wink: "He had the idea to distract those trolls, lad."

Thorin rolled his eyes: "Of course! I'm also glad I did not end up as a troll's night meal, my friend, but one witty thought makes him no burglar at all!"

Balin turned away with a sigh and watched the impressive scenery for a while, keeping silent and stroking his beard thoughtfully.

The hidden valley of Imladris was without any doubt one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen, even if he would not dare to admit it within this moment. None the less, the Elves had chosen it wisely and with care.

Cascades rushed down sheer rock walls all throughout the valley to unite within the river and the whole place was bathed in golden light, as the valley itself seemed to be touched by the colors of autumn at all. All shades of copper and brown mingled with gold and red and a breath of eternity seemed to spread above everything.

It was a calm and somehow unreal place – made for Elves to live in, not for Dwarves...

Balin cleared his throat and turned round again.

Facing Thorin he asked: "So, you're determined to bring it to an end, are you?"

"I told you already there is no choice for me, Balin! The map, the key, the answers to all my unanswered questions I got here tonight", he shook his head: "No, there is no way back..."

"You know, all of us will follow you to which end ever, but I fear we're too few to reclaim a whole kingdom on our own..."

"Don't think I haven't thought about this part as well, my friend."

"Then why leave without the wizard?"

Thorin frowned: "Because, even if he may support us the others won't! And I have not in mind ending up trapped here!"

"Do you really think they would force you to stay here, Thorin Oakenshield?"

Both turned round to face the unexpected stranger who mingled in and who had obviously followed their discussion and both stared at the figure stepping out of the shadows the same stunned and puzzled.

She was dressed in gray and blue like an Elven lady, barely to recognize at the first sight, her eyes were shimmering within the moonlight and her skillful braided hair fell down her back.

"Master Balin", she smiled: "Did I change that much? Don't say you don't recognize me?"

"No, lass, I would recognize you everywhere, even when my eyes start to betray me. I just wonder what you are doing here..."

"Indeed", Thorin interrupted him. "What are you doing HERE? In this place?"

"What does it look like?"

"I'm not quite sure. Maybe you should tell me! As it seems you relish the company of Elves. Dressed like one..."

He pointed at her dress and the jewels her braids were adorned with.

"Things are not always the way they seem..."

"Obviously", he snarled: "Well then, Jandra, healer of the King, why are you here?"

"Not by free will, if this is what you want to hear..."

"Why then!"

Thorin went over to her and grasped her shoulders in a firm grip just to let her out when he heard her scream...


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"I am sorry..."

Thorin turned his gaze away from the sight he had come to behold when his trusted healer had turned her back on him and when she had shrugged off the vesture she wore.

The scars covering her back had spread wider throughout the bygone years although he wasn't quite sure how this was supposed to be possible.

They were just scars weren't they?

No!

He shook his head – no, they were not just scars, they were scars caused by dragon fire and the way they looked, the way they spread there was no doubt:

The fire still burned underneath the surficial healed skin...

Thorin closed his eyes for a moment, unwilling to think about the meaning of this image his mind had just created.

If this was true she would possibly...

Her voice brought him back: "You don't have to be sorry..."

"I offended you without knowing", he hesitated while looking at the scars again, then he locked eyes with hers and went on: "this..."

She lowered her gaze before she responded: "Even if you would have known it you would not be able to change anything about it. You are as stubborn as a dwarf can be, you are a fighter to the core, but this is nothing which can be handled neither with stubbornness nor with fighting. Just by enduring it..."

He gave her a nod and the hint of a smile when he got the truth behind her words: "Forgive me..."

The healer grasped his hand: "I already have."

They kept silent for a while and Thorin had a look around the chamber Lord Elrond had left to her. It was bathed within a soft light even in the middle of the night. Skillful hands had adorned the walls and the ceiling with filigree ornaments and although one of the many cascades of the hidden valley rushed down close to the balcony of said chamber its sound was neither unpleasing nor disturbing but rather calming. The view from out of the window and from above the balcony spread wide around the valley and was able to please and rest the eyes of a tired wanderer if he was just willing to surrender...

Thorin digressed.

He was not meant to surrender...

This place was not made for him or any other dwarf but inwardly he hoped Elrond of Rivendell would be able to cure the wounds, the burning mark of evil, the dragon had left behind upon Jandra's back and if not that he would at least be able to ease the pain they must cause the brave Lady of Erebor.

The healer noticed his pondering silence. She slowly strolled over to him but all he did was to watch her out of tired eyes.

She sighed and stepped out on the balcony...

From beyond merrily laughter, frolic music and loud singing was to hear, carried over from one of the many pavilions Rivendell owned and suddenly a smile sneaked upon her lips when she finally got what was going on in within the hidden valley tonight.

Her smile got a bit broader: she had missed the music and the singing – and their Dwarven tongue.

To hear it today in a place like this felt the same strange and welcome and so her eyes were sparkling when she addressed Thorin again after having had a while of listening and relishing: "The company of Thorin Oakenshield. They must be both, brave and bold, if they accompany you to make a try to reach an aim which could hold death in store for them."

"They are", he replied, tried to hide the hint of pride, resonating within his voice: "They already proved their loyalty."

"Some of them already proved it more than once" she said while watching Balin and Dwalin, both leaning against a pillar of the pavilion.

"Yes, and I shall prove my loyalty against them as well some day."

"When you regained the Kingdom of Erebor?"

"Yes!"

"Yes?"

The healer sighed and wanted to turn her gaze away from the merry scenery when she spotted another pair of familiar faces. She frowned and stared at Thorin in pure disbelief when she recognized the wheat-blonde tuft of the first young dwarf and the catching laughter of the second.

A white-hot pain ran through her innermost and she had no idea what it was causing her this feeling of uneasiness. All she could do was to stare at the lads out of wide eyes.

"You gave in to their plea", she asked, pointing at the two young dwarves, her voice trembling from surprise and discomfort.

Thorin guessed what she wanted to say and he cocked an eyebrow while giving her his reply: "What do you want to hear? They are old enough to join the company and, to be honest, they left me no choice. I got caught between a rock and a hard place when they told me I could either agree to take them with me on this quest or they'd follow me on their own even without my permission..."

"You're not only their uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, you're also their King! You know what will wait for you in the deep depths of Erebor, guarding its lair! They don't! To them it is an adventure! A legend! They were not even born when we lost the Kingdom..."

"You think, I'm not aware of it?"

"No", she shook her head: "I just saw your sister and her sorrowful eyes before I left as well. She's too proud to let any of us know the truth but she already lost her husband and now she has good reason to be afraid of losing her sons and her brother!"

"I had not been aware of the fact you could ever doubt me."

"I don't!"

"Oh yes, you do", he flared up: "What do you think? That I'd endanger the lives of my nephews with levity? They mean more to me than any other breathing creature all around Middle Earth, milady!"

"And what do you think, milord? That I've been blind? I was the first to hold them within my arms before I handed them over to their mother! You love them? I do as well! They admire you because you've always been there for them after your brother in law died! You've always been there for them whenever they'd been in need for you. Taking them with you on this quest is madness!"

Thorin shot her a glare but she went on, unimpressed by his fierce look: "Are you really that hell-bent to restore your Kingdom or is it something different luring you to the Mountain and the burned plains of Dale? Actually there is no need to return. You are our King! You built up a new home for us..."

"You know this to be not our home!"

"I know! But can't you see it? That you start to change? Is it really just determination which drives you on? Or is it true what's said about the curse of the gold? That it destroys the Children of Durin! That it twists the mind of Kings! That it will doom you to your downfall! Tell me what it is! Is it the lost Kingdom or is it the gold and the King's Jewel which drags you back to the Lonely Mountain?"

"Enough", he barked at her: "How dare you!"

"Because I..."

She wasn't able to finish her sentence because the same moment two figures rushed into her chamber pulling her into heartfelt hugs and pressing her against their chests with wholehearted sympathy, before they both bowed in front of her and before they both addressed her wearing a broad grin upon their lips: "At your service, milady!"

Jandra changed a rapid look with Thorin and she hoped it might escape his nephews what was going on between them within this moment.

With a smile she beheld the young dwarves and she felt warmth spreading within her heart and within her innermost. There were no words able to explain what she felt for those two lads she had carried around when they still had been dwarflings.

Fili, the older, owned the pretty face of their mother and resembled her in almost everything except the wheat-blond hair and the slowly but continuously growing beard. His hair was skillfully braided – in a way Thorin had always preferred to wear it back in the ancient days of peace and lightheartedness. The eyes of the young dwarf sparkled, his grin was just irresistible and she was convinced he already had more than one mug of ale.

Kili, the younger, came after his uncle. He owned the same handsome but stern features and she was convinced he would break more than just one heart if he would chose himself a pretty lady some day. Although he was still almost too young for an adventure like this quest his uncle went to, he already seemed to be determined and willing to stay the course till the end.

Strands of dark hair fell into his eyes and when she beheld him he turned his gaze away, ashamed that his beard was still too short to be named a beard.

After a moment of amicable silence the lads started asking her questions by turns:

"What are you doing here?"

"Why are you here?"

"Will you accompany us?"

"Did Thorin tell you about our encounter with the Orcs?"

But before she was able to give them a reply Thorin mingled in: "The Lady is tired and exhausted and I need to talk to her! Alone! Go and prepare to leave. We'll be on our way with first daylight!"

"What about the wizard", Fili asked staring at his uncle in confusion.

"A change of plans", Kili assumed.

"Just a slight! We won't wait for the wizard. I don't want to stay here for much longer than necessary. We know the secret of the map now so there is no need to waste some more time. As soon as Erbeor is ours again you'll have time enough to cherish the Lady Jandra."

"He's right", she added: "We'll have half an eternity then to talk and laugh, my dear lads. Don't worry, we'll meet again. Soon!"

She embraced them one after the other and held them as tight as possible, that one moment longer needed to let them frown, but neither Fili nor Kili dared to ask her about what was wrong when they saw Thorin pointing at the door with a single move of his head.

As soon as the lads had left his gaze met hers again and he went on: "Do not dare to talk to me about the curse or the gold! Never again! You've no idea...!"

"I have", she suddenly burst out: "I saw the old King running mad! I saw the concern shown upon your face day after day – about your grandfather and about the fact itself! You're afraid! Of the curse, of the idea to end up like Thror, of losing your mind!"

"Will you stop it!"

"No! I won't! Because it is the truth!"

"You're not the first who made a try to talk me out of my plan! Others tried as well..."

"Yes! And possibly with good reason. Why should Dain be interested in leaving the Iron Mountains to risk his life for a dragon's lair!"

"It's not a dragon's lair! It's what once was our Kingdom!"

She owed him an answer and due to this he suddenly asked: "Who brought you here?"

When she still kept silent he repeated his question: "Who brought you here!"

The healer straightened and finally she replied: "The wizard..."

"Gandalf?"

She nodded: "He wanted me to come here. At exactly this point of time..."

"When did he tell you..."

"Bree..."

Her voice died away when she got aware that he stared at her stunned and completely surprised.

"You've been in Bree?"

"Yes!"

"And neither you nor Gandalf told me..."

She shook her head.

Thorin turned his gaze away caught in a mix of emotions, of feeling betrayed and deceived: "Why?"

"I...Thorin..."

"Why!"

"I don't know! He just told me to be here 'in time' whatever the meaning of it was supposed to be..."

"Why did he not tell me about you having been there?"

"Of what interest could it have been for you?"

"You vanished after we reclaimed Moria. Secretly, without leaving a message. This pale Orc, this spawn of evil, murdered my grandfather, my father got lost, and even we, who survived the day, were rather dead than alive and just within this moment when I needed you most you vanished..."

"I cannot..."

"What? Giving me an explanation", Thorin taunted: "That won't be necessary, milady. I thought there was more once but only trust, but as it seems I was wrong. I'm sorry, but I have to leave now. Break of day is close and maybe it's better not to bother you any longer. If you should change your mind, you'll be welcome in Erebor as you always have been within the realm of our kin, if not...", he hesitated for a split second before he said: "If not, you're free to go wherever you want to. Farewell..."

With it he left her without turning round again...

She felt the urge to follow him but what else could she tell him but one thing – that she wasn't able to tell him the truth because of what?

Because she loved him...?


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The village was small, built up of a few huts, a handful of farmhouses and a tavern, but it was settled close to the great eastern road and so the innkeeper had a lot of visitors of all kinds throughout the year.

Nonetheless had he been surprised when the two young dwarves, obviously a young couple, had shown up asking for a berth and for being allowed to stay for a week or two to finish an unfinished business.

They had both been exhausted and hungry and when they had promised to work for him due to a lack of money he had agreed, actually not completely convinced that they did not own some jewels or a pouch of gold.

Dwarves had always been known for always carrying a small amount of gems or gold with them, always since ages, and that was what their eager host had in mind as well when he led them up to their chamber.

In addition it had turned out that the young fellow owned a certain talent with the harp and as a bard which was a very welcomed gift thinking of all the great ballads and songs he was able to play and sing...To amuse the other guests...

* * *

She slept by his side, face down, still fast asleep, one hand buried under her cheek the other laxly rested upon his chest. Her sleep was deep and her breaths were calm and steady.

She earned, no, she needed this few days of rest since they had stayed on the road for much longer than expected.

Here and now they waited for news, for any small hint of what would happen next, but the time was nearly up and neither the news had found them nor any other hint that Thror would really try to reclaim the ancient Kingdom of Moria.

Thorin let out a sigh.

He brushed a curl of black hair from her cheek and covered her hand with his, tried not to wake her up. He felt torn between being hell-bent to finally get the long expected news and feeling desperate for being forced to humiliate himself in front of a filled to the brim tavern.

Singing and playing had always been a pleasure to him and even if his fingers were rough and torn open now, from the heavy work he had to accept to grant survival to him and his companion they still knew how to slip over the strings of his harp to elicit the most wonderful melodies from it.

But singing and playing had gotten a different kind of meaning since he had accepted the request of the innkeeper.

As soon as they left his lips the words of all those old and epic ballads he sang left nothing but bitterness behind deep inside him and the melodies he played seemed as if they had lost their sweetness and their worth after having been presented within the stuffy taproom of a shabby tavern.

He sighed again.

These skills had never been meant to be used to amuse drunkards and other strangers who did not belong to his kin...

His kin!

A sad smile sneaked upon his lips without him noticing it...

He missed his life, his people and the market days of Dale...

And he missed his sister and his two young nephews...

When he felt his memories rising again he closed his eyes and shook his head to get rid of them.

This was not the place and the time to remember the beauty of a lost Kingdom and it was not the place and the time for grief and mourning.

Instead he smiled:

When he opened his eyes again...

When a slight move told him that the lady by his side was close to wake up...

Jandra blinked into the fading light of the slowly vanishing day, her eyes wide and shimmering, her lips returning the smile which greeted her.

"Your rest was recreative", Thorin asked turning his gaze away when she sat up.

"Still worried about my honor", she asked in reply: "I fear there's no need to be worried about it any longer. We're nothing else but two lonely dwarves, now, searching for a way to survive. I'm no lady any more..."

"You'll always be. At least to me..."

"I know, but we can't do anything..."

"This", interrupting her Thorin made a gesture including the whole room with its nearly blind window, its single berth and the chest with its squealing lid: "is no place neither for you nor for me or any of our kin. None of us would ever dare to insult a lady in a way like this..."

"Sleeping by your side to me will never have the meaning of insulting me..."

She reached a hand out to caress his cheek and to her surprise he suddenly surrendered to her gentle touch. When his gaze melted into hers she wasn't able anymore to withdraw, the more when his fingers clasped her hand and when he breathed a kiss upon its inside.

"There will be the day", he whispered: "when we will have a home again and as soon as it is as far as you shall be treated as you are entitled to..."

His lips met hers, slightly, barely sensible and gentle...

And the moment passed by...

"I do not regret this", he said, his gaze still capturing hers: "I do not regret you keeping me company. All I do regret is that we won't be able to escape the emptiness inside here since we lost everything..."

His hand rested upon the spot near her heart then he lowered his head and added with a bitter smile: "It's time to amuse the drunkards...

* * *

Thorin let his hand sink and placed the harp back on the table. His voice still wavered over the small niche within the rear part of the tavern where he and Jandra spent another evening with playing and singing.

Outwardly calm his eyes told the healer sitting by his side a different story. A storm was raging behind his brow and he was not willing to make some more effort to hide his bad temper.

Grasping his mug of ale he said angrily: "Two or three more days and we'll leave. I cannot wait any longer. We have to get back to my father and the King..."

"Where do you want to search for them? They went different ways to search for allies..."

"The Blue Mountains..."

"The Ered Luin then?"

"Aye! Thror told me he would want me to lead our folk there if necessary. I suggest that is where we start looking for them..."

"It's a long way up there..."

"I cannot count the miles any more we already wandered to and fro Middle Earth without finding help. If this path is the only way to restore a spark of hope I will choose it. Are you with me?"

She nodded: "Of course."

He cleared his throat and looked at her with cocked eyebrows when he asked: "You endured a lot throughout the bygone months, years. You always served my kin well and honorably. Tell, me, why you never question your purpose?"

She lowered her head, her gaze lost to a spot somewhere within the tavern without noticing whereat she was staring: "You err, Thorin. I doubt it every day since we took flight from Erebor, since we had to watch Dale die within dragon fire, since we had to watch the dragon claim our home. I'm a healer. When I offered my services to your grandfather and father I wanted to fight sickness and I wanted to cure the ill. I wanted to save lives not to bury the dead. Look at me now! Who am I? No one! A beggar!"

"So am I", he replied with a stern face: "One of countless!"

"That's not true! You gave me hope when I was desperate, you gave me strength when I got weak, you made my heart laugh when it was close to breaking. There is a light hidden inside you, a light you're not even aware of it being there..."

He placed a hand upon hers: "The light lives inside you, milady..."

Ere she was able to answer him, excited murmur caught their attention. They needed not long to get the reason for the stir when curious and puzzled looks followed two hooded figures who cleaved through the well frequented tavern without minding the guests or the astonished gazes.

Both were not tall enough for men but they were proud enough not to think about it while they headed straight towards the niche where they stopped right in front of the table whereat they found Thorin and the young healer.

The smaller figure looked up to the larger and said: "As I said, brother, we'd find him where we'd expect him least."

With it he let got the hood of his cape and the friendly face of the King's Master of Arms came into sight. His companion followed his example and the fierce features of his brother got visible.

"Balin! Dwalin!"

Thorin changed a surprised look with Jandra and both stared at the two late and unexpected guests in surprise and relief.

He got up and Balin pulled him into an embrace: "Good to see you, Laddie."

Looking over Thorin's shoulder he gave the healer a wink and said: "Still strolling around with him, lass? Not tired of his changing moods and his bad manners?"

"No, Master Balin", she gave back with a grin: "Not yet..."

The moment of ease and lightheartedness vanished within an instant and Thorin looked at the two brothers by turns, concern mirrored within his eyes: "You met the King?"

"Yes, lad, we did and he's determined to claim what he believes he's entitled to claim."

"Moria!"

"Aye! He's raising an army", Dwalin said: "He'll need you. Soon!"

"Soon?"

"As soon as you can reach the walls of Moria", Balin remarked: "He's already on his way."

Thorin frowned.

He had expected the King would not look on helplessly if it came to reclaim Moria, but he wasn't sure if Thror was really the right head to prepare this campaign.

He remembered the day when the dragon came and he remembered the moment when he got aware that his grandfather was obsessed with the King's Jewel – and within exactly that moment he had known Thror would not be able any longer to rule their Kingdom on his own.

It hurt to know this truth and even if his father would be a worthy follower to the King he doubted the purpose of fighting for another lost Kingdom.

Erebor was their home and he would never accept naming another place their home...

And if there was no way to reclaim Erebor they were doomed to remain exiled...


	11. Chapter 10

**First of all I want to say thanks to all of you who read, review, favour and follow this story.**

**It means a lot to me and I'm still surprised about the feedback I get for it.**

**It's not perfect, for it was never meant to become a multi chapter story, but I think I'll certainly revise some chapters do give them some more depth...**

**Thank you!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Pain!

Pain was all he was still able to feel anymore.

His lips were dry and split, his eyes felt tired and burned and their lids were almost too heavy to keep them open. When he tried to swallow his throat felt sore and when he wanted to catch a breath his lungs protested and let him gasp.

His face was dirty and smeared with sweat, blood and other fluids he wasn't willing to think about. He felt his heart wildly beating against his chest as if it wanted to take flight from him and from this place it was forced to stay at.

There was no bone within his body which was not aching from strain and he knew it was just a reflex of his muscles which let him still hold his shield and his blade within a firm grip.

And it was also only a reflex which let him attack his enemies and which let him ward off their strikes and flourishes.

Stroking a strand of hair from his brow he dared to have a look around and the pain tearing his body apart started to tear his innermost apart as well.

Death surrounded him wherever he looked at, death, pain and suffering and he wasn't sure if the end of this day would still see him alive anyway.

This was madness and it had been madness from the very beginning of its first idea, but he was here as so many others because the King had summoned them.

He was here because Thror was this King and because this King was his grandfather...

He was here to fight for the honor of his proud folk, to fight for a place where his kin could find shelter, to fight for a case which was actually lost long before its beginning.

He was here to fight in front of the walls of another ancient Kingdom which was lost for ages.

He was here to fight in front of the walls of Moria...

Moria!

The Great Halls of Durin!

Thorin closed his eyes for a split second and instead of pride there got nothing else mirrored within them but desperation when he opened them again.

The thought to reclaim Moria had come to Thror's mind shortly after they had taken flight from Erebor and it had never left him until he had been able to unite forces from all remaining Dwarven kins. The army of dwarves was impressive when they showed up in front of the massive walls of the ancient Kingdom but all of their hopes, their dreams and their wishes got smashed into pieces when their enemy revealed itself.

Orcs had expected them, had waited for them, had lurked for them. Hidden in the dark behind the walls of a prey they had caught many years ago. Their forces were beyond countable and none of the dwarves had been prepared for this uneven battle.

'No', Thorin thought: 'This is no battle! It's a massacre!" And he knew, Thror was not able any more to turn this supposed defeat into just a hint of a victory.

Bitterness spread within his innermost when he had to look on helplessly how his folk, his kin died – once again...

'These Orcs', he thought: 'are not only determined to fight us back! They want to wipe us out!'

While another heavy mace hit his shield he watched what happened next and he was close to lowering down his defense when he mechanically warded his enemy off.

What now stepped out of the gates of Moria was something he had never seen before:

An Orc, without any doubt, but taller than most of those which fought for him, his skin pale like bleached bones in the sun and his body covered with scars.

So, the rumor about this Gundabad Orc was true, about this pale Orc who had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin.

So, the rumor about Azog, was true, whom they just named the defiler...

It was an unuttered challenge he made when he faced the King, but none the less none of those who got it got it wrong and Thror as they all knew would accept this challenge.

Time seemed to stand still while Thorin watched his grandfather stepping in the way of this terrible creature – a small figure, being aware that he would have nothing in store to hold against this Orc.

Thorin got torn out of his thoughts when he got attacked as well again. He clasped his sword in a tight grip, used his shield as a weapon as well when he smashed it against his enemy's head and when he pushed the creature out of his way – and then, panting for air, desperate and close to giving up, he stared at his grandfather and the immane pale giant.

The Orc buried his hand within Thror's hair, grabbed him with brute force and beheaded the proud Dwarven King with one single stroke of his blade.

Thorin stood rooted to the ground when he saw his grandfather fall, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to scream. He stood there, hardly able to bear it any longer, stood there amongst his dying kin, stood there and watched how Azog beheld the head of his King with its broken eyes like a trophy.

Then, within the same moment, the giant Orc spotted him, noticed the horror mirrored upon his face and let out a ghastly roar before he hurled the head towards him that it came to lay in front of his feet.

Triumph flared up within Azog's eyes when his gaze nearly speared Thorin, when he realized who the young dwarf was who wasn't able to hide his emotions within this moment.

Triumph because he knew, this young one would not be able to resist him much longer than the old fool he had just wiped away from the earth's face.

Like paralyzed Thorin stared at the Orc and his eyes widened in a mixture of understanding, hatred and abysmally anguish of mind.

He heard himself scream and he saw himself running towards the giant as if he watched himself from outside his body.

Azog let out a contented grunt when he saw the young dwarf hurry towards him and within the same moment his mighty mace hit Thorin's shield.

Thorin had no idea how he should resist this creature in the long run all he knew was that he had to try it equal the cost and equal the outcome. White-hot pain ran through his shield arm, when the mace of his enemy hit him again with such tremendous impact that he had to let go the shield.

Another strike tossed his sword out of his hand.

The immense violence which was behind this stroke let him stumble and let him fall off the lift he stood upon. There was no way out as much as he struggled to get back to his feet and the pale Orc needed not much effort to get after him.

Thorin tried desperately to move back.

He knew he was doomed to lose, doomed to die here and now and robbed of his shield and his sword he would perish within an instant. At least that was what he hoped...

A part of him, deep inside his innermost, wanted to give up, had already resigned to his fate, but another part, the stronger part of his heart and mind, wanted to stay alive by all means.

For seeking revenge, for not being willing to accept his fate, for longing to return to those he loved...

And it was within this moment when his hand felt for something he could use in defense, when he searched for anything which could be of use to him to defeat his undefeated enemy that his fingers clasped an oaken branch. It was heavy and it withstood the mace the pale Orc wanted to slay him with – resisted the strikes once, twice even a third time.

Thorin knew, just one more strike would do and as exhausted and tired as his body felt he also knew it wouldn't need long any more until the cruel creature in front of him would crush him down.

When his last spark of hope was close to fade, his hand found the burred blade of one of those uncountable fallen and all he was still able to do was to grasp this blade and to hurl it upwards determined to hit his enemy worse enough to take him down to hell together with him.

It was just a split second but within this blink of an eye he suddenly heard the cruel creature scream and Thorin realized that he had hit him bad enough that he would most possibly die from his wounds.

Thorin panted for air...

He stumbled to his feet, wishing this nightmare to be over but there was no such hope.

While he desperately searched for his father, watching out for his distinctive dark red armor he already guessed that it would be in vain. All he was able to spot was his dying folk, slain by Orcs – and within a split second he made his decision.

The oaken branch within his left, the burred blade within his right he climbed up the lift again and when they spotted him the tired and exhausted dwarves drew breath and hope.

This was the son of Kings...

This was a child of Durin...

Young, brave, proud...

A born leader!

And they followed him willingly when he resummoned them to fight...

His gaze fierce and wild, his will strong and unbroken, his pain forgotten he took breath and his voice sounded wide over the battlefield:

"Du bekâr!"

* * *

Here he was...

A Dwarven King without a Kingdom, a leader without an army, a dwarf without a home a child of Durin robbed of its roots.

He reached out for a mug of ale but his hand sank. The bitter taste he still felt upon his tongue wasn't willing to leave and so all and everything tasted as bitter as his memories felt.

Thorin sighed...

In the end they had fought back the Orcs, in the end they had won the battle but he felt no relief, no joy and no pride while thinking of it. There was no glory in this, there was no reason to celebrate and there was no gratification.

They won, there was no one around to doubt it, but in the end they had lost. Too few had survived the battle in front of the walls of Moria, too few had returned to their beloved and too few remained to name them still an army.

No, this victory was none!

It was a defeat!

Erebor was lost due to the attack of the dragon, Moria was lost as well, at least to him and in a different way. He would not return to the great halls of Durin. No one had a fitting reason to convince him to do it and so he wouldn't...

Letting out another sigh he finally grabbed the mug and emptied it within one draft knowing it would not ease the emptiness he felt spreading deep inside him.

A silent noise tore him out of his thoughts and he raised his head, blinking within the half shades of a fading day.

In stepped the healer, her face pale, her eyes reddened from crying and a lack of sleep, her dress of rough linen torn and covered with dried blood and smut.

She winced when she got aware of Thorin's inquiring look, seeing how the hint of a spark of hope died away when she silently shook her head.

She knew what he wanted to know – if they had found the mortal remains of his grandfather, but she had no answer for him.

After a while she cleared her throat and said with a hoarse voice: "I've no idea how to go on. Those who are aware of healing are not enough to care for those who'd need our help. We don't even know how and where to bury our dead.."

Her voice ebbed away and she turned round to hide the tears from Thorin which were welling up within her eyes anew.

When she felt him wrapping his arms round her from behind she first tried to struggle under his gentle touch but then she gave in. Too tired to resist her longing for his closeness and the warmth this gesture meant, too troubled to deny to herself that she needed this moment of peace and rest and too weak to move.

He turned her round again within this loose embrace, looked straight into her face and asked: "Did you sleep?"

"Yes..."

"I told you once not to deceive me. Not even try to", he smiled a tired smile: "So, once again: Did you sleep?"

She just shook her head.

"Then you should. Now!"

"Thorin, no! They need me, they..."

"I need you as well! You know it! And you're of no use for any of us if you'll collapse again! Neither for them nor for me, not to forget yourself!"

When she made an effort to talk back he looked at her with a stern face: "I never wanted this to happen, but fate made me your King, milady, and if I have to I'll order you to rest. Is that understood!"

He brushed a sweaty curl from her brow and added with a soft voice: "Please..."

She closed her eyes for a while and leaned in against him before she nodded and answered: "As you wish..."

They got thrown back into the here and now when Dwalin rushed in followed by his brother. Both looked as tired as all who had survived the battle and when Thorin beheld them by turns he actually knew already what he would come to hear now.

Therefore he asked: "Any news about Thrain? Did anybody see him?"

"None and no one", Balin replied with a faint smile: "but there's still hope, lad."

"Hope", Thorin taunted: "No, my friend, this hope died in front of the walls of Moria."

"You're really sure, the Orc's done", Dwalin asked frowning.

"How could I be not?"

"You know he swore to wipe out the line of Durin."

"Yes, and I swore to never let this happen!"

The fierce warrior gave him a nod: "No doubt on this. Have a plan then?"

Thorin lowered his head before he responded: "Thror left me a heavy burden. He wanted to build up a new home for our folk. If not here then at the outskirts of the North."

"The Ered Luin", Balin assumed.

"Aye! The Ered Luin. You'll certainly understand that I've no want to reclaim Moria. So we'll go to the North. If there's a future for our kin, then it lies in the Blue Mountains."

"You know we are with you, lad, and most of those who survived, which, to be honest", a sad expression sneaked upon the face of the master of arms: "are too few..."

"You don't have to prove your loyalty against me, my friends. You did more than once and I know you are."

"The Ered Luin is far from here", Dwalin remarked: "and there's no guarantee that we'll get there."

"There was never a guarantee for us to survive since we had to leave Erebor!"

It was the low voice of the healer which let them all watch her in surprise: "It will be the right place to build up a new home. Thror was right and he knew why he entrusted this quest to you, Thorin Oakenshield..."

It was for the first time that one of them spoke it out loud what whisper and rumor already spread – the name they had given him after he had vanquished the pale Orc and after he had led them into battle again.

Thorin Oakenshield...

It sounded right within his ears and within this moment he felt grateful for the trust his folk and kin obviously felt for him.

"Well then", he straightened up and raised his head: "if this is the path we have to tread, I'll lead you there to build up a new home..."


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The cave did not reach far into the mountain's flank but at least far enough to grant the company shelter from the heavy rain which constantly fell down from an unfriendly and troubled sky.

They were all exhausted and still scared while thinking of what they had just experienced and survived. None of them had really believed in those ancient tellings about stone giants fighting their battles during thunderstorms within the barren gaps in the Misty Mountains.

Now they had been able to convince themselves that the legends were true and deadly.

To which good spirit they would have to pay their gratefulness they would have to figure out with break of day, for now they found themselves within a safe and, much more important at the moment, dry place where they could rest and recover.

There was no hint on this place being a trap or an ambush and since there had been just one entrance, no unpleasant surprise would be to expect. Therefore no one dared to talk back when the decision got made to wait for the next morning to continue their journey.

Thorin had not been willing to draw any unwelcome attention towards them and so he had ordered Gloin not to light a fire within the cave, when the fierce but none the less friendly son of Groin brought some dry pieces of wood in order to prepare a cozy campfire – not to mention a hot meal.

None of them had dared to ask him about his reasons or the why when he turned away to get some rest and to catch some sleep, ordering Bofur to keep the first watch, monosyllabic, harsh and obviously deep in thoughts, and so it happened that the mostly merry company had its evening meal in silence just stealing a glance at their taciturn leader from time to time...

* * *

He had no idea how long he had listened to the rain still falling down, causing a silent echo within the cave, tried to rest, tried to find at least an hour of sleep, tried to forget about his sorrows, but all he got was that one certainty that, the more he tried, the less he succeeded.

He blinked within the darkness of the cave until his eyes got accustomed to it and he beheld the faint shapes of his sleeping companions.

Silent smacking and snoring told him that they were all fast asleep and he felt grateful that none of them got seriously hurt when the incredible thunderbattle broke loose.

For one single moment he thought that it all could have ended today – the quest, the strain, the fight. A split second had been enough, had been the small spine of that choice of fate which would have meant whether he would stay alive or die.

He still felt surprised about himself, because he had not spent a thought on the fact that he could die as well when he hastened to save this continuously lamenting Hobbit.

Bilbo Baggins!

The Hobbit, the burglar!

Although he had to admit that this Master Baggins had proved himself to be not stupid at all, Thorin was still in doubt about him and his being around.

Having proved himself to be clever when it came to deal with some strong but in the end dim-witted trolls was one thing but to outsmart a dragon, to outsmart Smaug, the Golden, meant more than just to be clever. It would mean forgetting about his garden and his books, about his cozy fireplace and the good food.

Thorin wasn't sure if this homesick halfling would be of help in the end and how could he be sure about it if he wasn't sure anymore if he really owned the right to endanger the lives of his loyal and trustable companions – and his beloved nephews.

He closed his eyes, longing for sleep, for rest and for a moment of staying on his own, but he knew no one would grant this to him tonight.

Listening to the snoring and smacking again and to Bofur who silently hummed a song while sitting near the entrance keeping the first watch, Thorin let his thoughts travel back to Rivendell. He felt the slight sting within his heart while he thought about what it was he had left behind within the hidden valley of Imladris.

He had no idea why he had been so upset when she told him that it was madness to take the lads with him on his quest.

Thinking of it here and now she was right – the feeling of nearly having lost them during the thunderbattle had been unbearable...

He had no idea why he felt insulted when she named the treasure of their lost kingdom a dragon's lair.

Actually it was exactly that, the dragon's lair, and nothing else it was since Smaug had claimed Erebor back then: nothing else but his lair...

And he also had no idea why he felt like having been betrayed when he had to find out that she met Gandalf in Bree at the same time when he met the wandering wizard there several months ago.

Why felt he anger about it?

Why wasn't he just relieved to find her safe and sound as his nephews were?

Why?

And was she really safe and sound?

The scars spreading all over her back, the slowly burning dragon fire...

If there was no cure, what would it mean to her and to...him?

Losing her?

But how could he lose what never belonged to him?

There had been days when they travelled all around Middle Earth after having lost everything, where he had believed they would belong together.

They trusted each other, they shared everything – the joy as well as the pain, the memories as well as their dreams – and they had always been there one for the other...

Always, until he made his decision to lead his folk to the Ered Luin, to the Blue Mountains, to build a new home for all of them...

Always, until the decision was made that he would be the new king under the mountain after his father, Thrain, remained missing...

Always, until she left one day: after all the dead got bemoaned, after the wounded got healed and after the halls they built up within the Blue Mountains got worth to be named the halls of the king under the mountain.

He let out a soundless sigh.

It was not the whole truth to what he had blamed her for when he left her in Rivendell.

It was not after the battle in front of the walls of Moria that she vanished, it was a rather long while after this victory which brought them tears instead of glory and which meant lamenting to them instead of singing...

But he felt hurt and alone when some day he got the message that her chamber had been found empty.

No letter, no note, no word – she just left the halls of the Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains and him...

He inwardly named himself a fool for letting his thoughts travel back that far.

Wasn't his quest supposed to be much more important than some slightly fading memories?

Wasn't the Lonely Mountain much more valuable than the distant longing for some blissful days and nights he shared with his once trusted healer?

No!

The silent voice deep inside him told him the truth, but he wasn't willing to listen to it.

It wasn't bliss what was supposed to wait for him, nor was it sweetness or easiness...

There was no guarantee that he would succeed even if he was willing to fight till the end and although Gandalf was convinced the halfling would be worth his trust he still doubted him and everything he did and said.

His eyes were burning, even under their closed lids and he felt his tiredness like a heavy weight which he wasn't willing to endure any longer, but just when he was close to fall asleep he heard some carefully placed footsteps and silent murmur coming from the cave's entrance.

He blinked into the darkness and saw Bofur and the hobbit talking.

First he got just shreds of this nightly dialogue but then he heard the halfling speak about his home and all those things he loved and missed, about his wish to return home and about the truth – that they, the dwarves heading for an uncertain future, had nothing.

Neither a home nor something similar. They had nothing but memories of better times and they owned nothing but a life to live it on the road.

Thorin knew, Bilbo Baggins was right, he knew there was nothing but a vague hope they headed for and he felt his sadness, the knot within his throat which sometimes seemed to choke him, tighten again – until he saw it!

The blue shimmer the halfling's sword gave off and he was wide awake within an instant.

Orcs!


End file.
